


Devotional

by whichstiel



Series: Season 15 Codas [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s15e18 Despair, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e17 Unity, Resurrection, The Empty, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27436378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: A series of vignettes exploring Castiel and Dean's past.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 15 Codas [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514042
Comments: 15
Kudos: 123
Collections: SPN Finale "Destiel is CANON" Collection





	Devotional

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t been writing much lately. I’ve been working too much and stretched too thin, like a lot of people. This coda idea is actually inspired by last week’s episode. When Amara wanted Chuck to feel the “perfect, angelic devotion” of angels, I ran aground on that line. Because, wow. Because, Cas. After this week’s episode, I had to write this. This show…it’s all about love, right?
> 
> So. A devotional is a little meditative prayer centered around a story. We start with THE WORD, follow up with a story, and walk away with a little revelation to ponder. I give you Castiel’s devotionals.

**TRANQUILITY**

**CASTIEL**

**We need to talk.**

**DEAN**

**I'm dreaming, aren't I?**

Warmth radiants from the wooden planks of the dock under Castiel’s feet. The surrounding lake smells almost too rich, eutrophic but vibrant with potential life below the surface. Trees line the opposite shoreline and the sky is the color of mist, washed of color. Somehow it transforms the wide lake into something close, like an arm thrown over a shoulder. Something safe.

There’s nobody else in the dream. It’s just himself, and Dean, and the fishing pole that may or may not actually catch any fish. The dock creaks faintly as Castiel leans forward to talk and in that moment of minuscule noise, Castiel almost flees the dream.

He’s an angel. Dean’s only human. Surely Castiel can handle the oncoming hand of Heaven on his own. It’s preposterous to think that _Dean_ might be able to do something Castiel cannot.

Water ripples soundlessly around them, driven by an illogical wind. Castiel wants to drop to the dock and wrap his arms around his legs. He could close his eyes. Maybe Dean would accept his presence here as just another illogical chunk of dream and Castiel could lose himself here, in Dean’s calm retreat. If he didn’t know other angels could pry into dreams, maybe he would.

There’s a war on and the highest powers of Heaven and damnation are at their throats but somehow Dean can still conjure this well of peace. It’s…astonishing. Castiel looks at him and soaks in the beauty of this dream, light against the tar of the looming war.

Dean has proven over and over that he is…extraordinary. Maybe he can help. Maybe he will. Castiel makes his decision and breaks the silence.

**NEED**

**SAM**

**I spent all that time trying to get through to you. Dean calls once, and now it's "Hello?”**

**CASTIEL**

**Yes.**

**SAM**

**So, what? You like him better or something?**

**CASTIEL**

**Dean and I do share a more profound bond. I wasn't gonna mention it.**

There’s blood smeared down one white wall, dark red except where fumbling fingertips scraped it thin. There, it’s brown, and shows the path of the hand clearly as it traveled down to the floor. The angel’s body is gone, but the blood of Castiel's dead soldier remains as a warning. Castiel grips his blade and feels it sing against his palm.

Raphael’s outpost is in an office building so new the smell of fresh paint and plastic permeates everything. Castiel stops in the hallway and closes his eyes briefly. He’s got two angels searching the second floor, and another soldier just ahead. Zoriel, one of Raphael’s righthand guard, is rumored to be hiding out in the shell of this place. Castiel sent three angels after her. None of them returned.

And there - he can sense her. There’s a glimmer of something quiet just down and through the door, and Castiel’s gaze alights on a sturdy gray door with a sign that reads “Electrical.”

“Gamrit,” Castiel says quietly, and the soldier emerges from the office she was searching into the hallway. He nods at the door, and Gamrit immediately understands. She palms her blade and reaches for the door handle. Castiel spins his blade until it’s pointed down, ready to punch or slice in the close quarters of a stairwell.

Together, they advance. It’s time to finish this.

As they prowl down the cheerfully lit stair to the basement, Castiel’s chest warms. He breathes out slowly, no outward hesitation in this vital mission. But the warm weight remains and it spurs Castiel forward, recklessly fast. Gamrit, he can tell, is taken by surprise at his speed but follows gamely as Castiel charges ahead.

The electrical room is dark, but they find Zoriel there, hiding like a rat in a cellar. With that warmth burning a hole into him, Castiel dispatches her in a flash of power and char. Wiping a fleck of blood from his forehead, he tells Gamrit, “I need to go. Clean this up.”

Gamrit is still panting from the fight, but she nods obediently. If she has any questions, she knows she doesn’t have enough rank to voice them. Castiel is busy - he’s the leader of the resistance, after all.

Castiel gives in at last to the tug around his heart and lets it pull him the way it always has, back to Dean.

**JOY**

**DEAN**

**I lived it, Cas. Okay? I know what happened.**

**CASTIEL**

**No. No, you think you know. You remembered it the way you needed to.**

**DEAN**

**Look, I don't need to feel like Hell for failing you. Okay? For failing you like I failed every other God forsaken thing that I care about! I don't need it!**

**CAS**

**Dean. Just look at it. Really look at it.**

Most of the time, Castiel thinks about fleeing again. They’ve killed five leviathan this week, or this month, or however time passes in Purgatory. It’s clear to him that he’s bringing them to Dean. The way Dean’s hand shakes when the adrenaline from each encounter starts to wear off tells Castiel that the onslaught is new. It’s clear in the way the vampire rolls his eyes expansively every time Dean sharply announces that Castiel is “getting out” with them, that Castiel is a burden.

There’s no getting out of here. No getting away. Not for Castiel, at least. But he’ll be doubly vigilant just to personally see Dean out of here as quickly as possible.

Castiel walks the perimeter of the small gray clearing, peering through the trees as far as he can see for traces of moving shadow. The arches of his feet ache, which remains disconcerting. Purgatory sucks power from him like a greedy mouth, always open and hungry.

“Cas,” Dean says from where he’s settled against a tree.

Dean has a way of saying his name, that manages to layer meaning onto it until the shortened nickname becomes heavy and falls to the ground between them. This time, it’s gentle. Almost playful. Castiel rolls his eyes, rolls his whole body, and turns. “What?”

Dean gestures to the ground next to him like a salesman showing off the sparkling hood of a new car. He flips his palm and smacks it against the ground.

Castiel continues his trajectory until his glance takes him all the way back around to the perimeter again.

“Dude.”

“I should patrol,” Castiel bites out, gesturing towards the thicker growth he can’t quite see into. “Out in the—“

“You can watch from here. Me and Benny got a good view.” Benny grunts an affirmative. “Cas, c’mon.” There’s the sound of boots shifting against root and soil.

Castiel stops and turns sharply. “You need to rest. I can’t heal you here, Dean, and I—“

Dean raises his eyebrows expectantly, one hand braced against the ground and a knee poised to stand. Castiel deflates. “Fine.” One hand fumbles for his pocket and then flutters away - an old habit that came back to him when Dean found him. Like his hand has no control and must be contained or it will reach out and—

Castiel settles himself on the ground, leaving safe ground between them. He stares off into the woods, taking up his own share of the 360 resting watch.

“Did I ever tell you about my first time camping with Bobby?” Dean asks quietly. “I swear this place is better. There were bloodsuckers everywhere, and not the kind you can slice through. Bobby thought bug spray scared away game so...”

Castiel looks over again and Dean smiles. Actually smiles - big and bright against the gray underworld. And that’s it. Castiel is pulled into orbit again, as quick as ever. He listens as Dean spins the story, laughs in all the right places when he sees the spark hit his eyes just right. Castiel marvels at it - at Dean - and how he can find such joy in his memories even among such bleak surroundings. Memory only seems to bring Castiel pain. The shade of his own dark legacy retreats for a while in Dean’s sunshine.

**KINDNESS**

**CASTIEL**

**You misunderstand me, Dean, I’m not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town.**

**DEAN**

**You were?**

**CASTIEL**

**These people, they’re all my father’s creations. They’re works of art, and yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken and we are one step closer to hell on earth, for all creation. Now that’s not an expression, Dean, it's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means. Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?**

**DEAN**

**Okay.**

**CASTIEL**

**I’m not a hammer as you say. I have questions, I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here.**

A red kite flies against a blue sky. Castiel watches it, the single-minded focus of the fabric catching the wind. The kite holds the wind, and lets itself be held - a small thing in a big world. This heaven doesn’t change much. Maybe that’s why Castiel likes it so much. It’s easy to follow, and full of uncomplicated joy.

This is the kind of beauty Michael likes to preach about. The world should be a perfect garden, with humanity well pruned and turned out for regular sunshine and watering. But Castiel thinks that maybe humanity is a little bit like that kite. Small and seemingly inconsequential, but creating fleeting beauty against the maelstrom of time and space.

Guilt lays low in his bowels and Castiel slips a wary hand to his abdomen before dropping it to his side again, a momentary lapse. He should not be standing here, doubting God’s plan. Dean Winchester is a part of a hedge that must be clipped, but Castiel would rather see him - would rather see everyone - making their own brief butterfly flashes against the sky.

Castiel should not care about the pulse of humanity teeming like ants below but…that feeling is still there. He confessed it to Dean - to a human - to THE human he was sent into the wilderness to fetch and plant firmly in Heaven’s palm. Too terrified to hear his judgment, Castiel fled. But up here, in this spot of solace, Castiel wonders. What did Dean think of his confession? Would he see it as weakness, like the other angels? That wasn’t what he thought he felt, before he fled. It felt like approval. It felt like…acceptance.

“We don’t have to be enemies,” Castiel murmurs to the close heaven, and the souls teeming the firmament, and the world below. “Maybe we can be friends.” He thinks of Dean’s steady gaze, his righteous anger, and it feels right.

**FAMILY**

**DEAN**

**It’s me. We’re family! We need you. I need you.**

The sun paints dancing parallelograms on the fabric-covered bus seats as it twists along the looping ridge-side road. This close, the angel tablet feels intoxicating, like lips against his ear. Castiel wants to press into it.

_I need you._

He wishes he were back with Dean. 

The flash of bewildered betrayal in his eyes while Castiel spread his wings and fled is enough to keep the tablet’s temptation at bay, so something useful came from the encounter, perhaps.

The bus rumbles pleasantly around him, sleepy chatter from the other passengers creating a gentle symphony. Castiel can’t be soothed. He feels cracked down the middle. He can close his eyes and see Dean’s face, bloody. He can close his eyes and see a vast warehouse of the same thing. Dean wouldn’t call him family if he knew how close Castiel had come to buckling under the fist of Heaven.

No, Castiel doesn’t deserve that honor. But damn, he wants to take it. _I’m family,_ he tries. _I’m your family._

**TOUCH**

**DEAN**

**Not for nothing but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.**

Words shouldn’t be enough to send Castiel into a spiral, but the flare of want ignites in him again.

And again and again and…

Castiel leans against the railing of the steps leading up to Bobby’s main floor. He can hear Sam and Dean faintly behind the door, and he lets his mind tune it out. He remembers the first spike of _want_ and how it was paired with jealousy. These desires are always inappropriate. Misplaced. Feelings, along with Dean Winchester himself, are things an angel should not have.

At first, he’d clung to a vision of Dean Winchester as a holy messenger of God, a guide for him in the war. Dean was a magnetic pole to follow, a moral guidepost.

Until Anna had pressed her lips against him - against Dean - and then accused Castiel of lacking feeling.

Whenever feeling leeched through before it had been easy enough to quash through action. Keep busy enough, and there wouldn’t be time for questioning. No time for guilt.

There in the barn, ready to kill Anna as quickly and dispassionately as possible, she’d managed to set him off balance with a simple kiss. A simple touch. It was as if she’d been reminding Castiel that he could never have that. A touch, a kiss. Those were human things. Weren't they?

**SAVIOR**

**CASTIEL**

**What’s the matter?**

**You don’t think you deserve to be saved.**

The Empty’s torture is particularly cruel, like a shadowed Heaven. Or maybe being strapped to a chair in a movie theater with his eyes pinned open is a better analogy. Castiel’s life plays out like a reel across his eyelids. Even things he thought were long gone, dragged out of him with Naomi’s needle, keep him company in the dark.

He remembers more than the poetry of the neanderthal now. He remembers the bloody face of one elder poet. Her grim look of acceptance as Castiel slashed through her family. The houses thousands of years later with slain children, one by one, screams filling the night. The widower weeping over his wife’s body, wings spread wide on either side. All the countless times he said _yes_ and the world suffered for it.

Memories of leviathan tickle his skull. Balthazar, Hannah, Inias, Rachel and others engage him in rounds of circular talk, accusations and unheard apologies. Memories of Dean envelope him entirely, as he knew they would. He may have addressed one of his long-standing regrets before the Empty slid in and sucked him away, but ten years has generated plenty of other wrong turns.

* * *

It happens when Castiel is lost in a memory of Dean, terrified, heading in to torture Alastair. Dean turns to him, circled shadows haunting his eyes. “Seriously? You gotta let things go, man.”

Castiel blinks. Shakes his head. “That’s not what you said here,” he reminds his memory of Dean - himself, he supposes. “You—“

“Cas.” The way this younger Dean says his name is soft and sorrowful, and so far past the sharp demand he used so long ago in that first stormy year. The nickname falls like folded rose petals in the space between them. “Cas,” Dean says again, reaching out. Castiel flinches backward, and Dean drops his hand. A lopsided smile lights his face, entirely unlike anything Castiel has ever managed to deserve.

Dean looks around the room, shaking his head ruefully. “Man, angels really get the shaft. Makes sense though. Chuck's not exactly the 'thank you for your service enjoy your retirement' type.” He steps toward the large table filling the room and the cage with Alastair in it fades to something soft gray and indistinct.

Castiel clears his throat, entirely at sea. He’d never ascribed creativity to the Empty before, but he supposes this could be a new kind of torture. Something even more personal. “I’m sure it was easier for Chuck to tuck us all away here - angels and demons - than try to sort through us.“Good or bad didn’t matter. We’re all no good to him if we’re dead, I expect.”

“Yeah, well, Chuck’s a shitty creator, but we already knew that.” Dean extends his hands to Castiel, palms up in supplication. “Listen, I don’t know how long it’ll be but we’re working on a way to get you outta here.”

Looking around the gray room, air thick with pain, Castiel shakes his head. “If this is a trick,” he says automatically, trying to push down the wild joy that surges up. If one thing rankles the Empty, it’s any trace of joy or satisfaction. Castiel will be back in the crypt in no time, smashing the man he loves into something bloody and unrecognizable. He tries to stay calm but he can feel whatever simulation of a heartbeat he has speeding up. Castiel lets Dean approach, his mouth soft.

“Cas,” Dean says again, and this time Castiel lets himself be touched. Dean’s hand caresses his cheek, thumb rolling softly along his cheekbone. “I’m coming, okay? It’s not gonna be forever. I got a plan.” Castiel leans into the touch, because he’s weak. “I’m coming for—“

Dean shutters instantly, all warmth falling away. Once again he’s terrified and angry and Castiel knows he’s about to break him as soon as he walks through that door alone. Dean’s hand falls away from Castiel’s cheek like it was never even there and he turns and walks in to confront Alastair, figure swallowed by nothing.

* * *

Castiel can’t keep track of time in here. Memories blend together like threads in an infinite weave. One day they may all merge together into a single smothering blanket. Maybe then he’ll lose himself, and then will come a kind of peace at last.

Until that time, there’s hope. And that’s even worse. Castiel still hasn’t ruled out a particularly malicious twist from the Empty, so he’s left speechless when he wakes up in the cold black with a faint echo ringing in his ears.

He follows the sound, inexplicably loud in the realm of nothing, until he sees Dean. Castiel freezes.

“Cas!” Dean beckons him over. “I came to get you out! C’mere! You just gotta—” Castiel draws closer, hope welling in his chest, when Dean’s face turns cruel. He laughs, and Castiel recognizes the Empty in the sharp lines of his face.

“What is this?” Castiel demands. “Some kind of new game? I— I thought you wanted peace.”

“I dunno, Clarence. Torturing you is pretty fun, as it turns out.”

There’s a deep sucking sound, like an oversized plunger, and hands then arms poke out of the black. Another Dean pushes into the dark with a muffled curse.

The Empty Dean frowns deeply at the intrusion. “Oh, you made it through after all,” he says, voice modulating higher and body in flux until the Empty reforms as Meg. She pouts. 

The other Dean dusts off his sleeves dramatically. “Yeah, I made it. No thanks to you.”

Meg smirks. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. Well, take him and get outta here.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to do. “Dean, did you make a deal? How—?”

“No deal,” Dean says, his eyes wide and earnest when they look at Castiel, sharp when they trace Meg. “Well, not that kind of deal anyway.” He fishes into his pocket and draws out a blood-red amulet. Holding it up he says, “This is it. Death’s reward. Take one and call me in the… Well, never call us again if you know what’s good for you.”

Meg hisses and reaches for the bloody stone, but Dean raises it up and away. “Cas first.” He holds out his other hand to Castiel, a clear invitation. When Castiel hesitates, Dean quirks a brow at him. “What’s the matter?” he asks. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

“Dean.” _Of course the answer is no._ He can’t say it, though. Not to the bright hope in Dean’s eyes.

“Cas.” Dean’s answer is assessing, almost teasing. “Come on. I’m freezing my balls off here.”

Castiel steps forward and takes Dean’s hand. It’s warm. Castiel can feel Dean’s heartbeat, real and earnest.

“Good,” Dean says warmly, fingers closing around him. “That’s right. Hey, catch!” Dean hurls the blood stone into the black and in the same moment, tugs Castiel against him hard. Together, they topple through the doorway and land in a tangle of limbs on the bunker floor.

There’s a rushing sound, like a waterfall behind them, and then they’re there together in the relative warmth of the bunker. Castiel becomes acutely aware of their position. He’s wrapped in Dean’s arms, face planted into his shoulder, legs sprawled inelegantly together.

“Ah,” Castiel murmurs, embarrassment immediately rushing in to fill him after the despair of the Empty. Dean lets him push up and away, rolling to the side, and Castiel is immediately engulfed in an embrace as Jack and Sam rush in.

The next few minutes are absorbed in thunderous thumps on the back and Jack’s ebullient explanation of how they’d manipulated the rocky Death power vacuum to bring Castiel home.

When he’s given space enough, Castiel looks at Dean. “You _saved_ me.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck and grimaces an apology made apparent when he says, “Didn’t know I could last time.”

“Thank you.” Castiel looks at his hands and then at the rest of them. “Thank you, I—“ He clears his throat because the emotional overload of _joyfearecstasy_ is almost too much to process. “I’m grateful.” The words feel shallow, but he feels the sentiment is clear because nobody has a dry eye and Dean—

Dean has been watching him steadily, that soft look on his face again. Castiel doesn’t know how to read it, but it at least means forgiveness. Acceptance. He tries out a smile in return and Dean clears his throat and shoots a look at Sam.

Sam clears his throat in that strange Winchester language that means, _right, message received._ He hauls Jack from the room, leaving Castiel and Dean on the floor in front of the brick wall through which the Empty had taken him.

They begin to speak at the same time, Castiel to offer assurances that nothing needs to change between them. He’s here for the fight, and beyond. He’ll always be here.

But Dean overrides him with a simple, breathless, “I love you, too.”

The words short circuit what’s left of Castiel’s ability to process in the moment, and he’s left with his mouth open, wordless.

Dean seems to take the look on his face as invitation and leans toward Castiel. “I didn’t get to tell you before. Wanted to tell you before things get—“ He lifts one shoulder. “You know how it gets around here.”

“I do,” Castiel says. “Dean, you don’t have to say—“

“Yeah, I do.” Dean takes his hand and wraps it in both of his own. “I wanted to tell you back in Purgatory. After I found you again I thought I could get the words out and at least you’d _know_. I could go off and die in the fight but at least I’d told you but—“

“I heard your prayer,” Castiel says, and it comes out as almost a question.

“I know you did. Knew you would’ve. Hell, I bitched at you about listening to prayers last time we were stuck in there. Figured you’d have your ears on no matter what. I thought…what I wanted to say. It shouldn’t be said in a prayer. It should be said out loud. Right to your face.” Dean grinned. “So I can see you like this.” Castiel realizes he’s smiling as Dean raises their joined hands and presses them to his chest, pulling them closer. “Listen, I— I know I said you’re family. I said you’re like a brother to me and we can do that but... I _want_ it to be more, if you do.”

With awe humming through him, Castiel touches Dean’s temple, cheek, jaw. He marvels at Dean, so still and trusting beneath his hand. So open. “I do want that,” he says. “I want you.”

Dean presses hard into his hand before leaning close enough that their breath mingles. “Good,” he says, voice dropping low. “‘Cause I want that too.”

When they kiss, it’s a revelation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m on Tumblr @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, Shirtless Sammy.
> 
> Edited to add: Biden/Harris 2020 celebration time!!!!!!!


End file.
